


I'm Just Wild About Harry

by Beefmaster



Series: Into The Harryverse [2]
Category: Ghosts (TV 2019), Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, it's mostly just love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beefmaster/pseuds/Beefmaster
Summary: Edward takes a journey through Harry's past.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Into The Harryverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921519
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. Little House on the Prairie

**Author's Note:**

> This is... not really Ghosts fanfiction. I'll just start with that. It features (briefly) Button House and Heather Button, and some of the ghosts get mentioned later on, but mostly it's just the story of my two favorite OCs, Edward and Harry, and I can't say I'm sorry.
> 
> This is an alternate version of Chapter 5 of my fic 1944, where some of Harry's biographical details have been changed. This fic will make more sense if you've read that first, but if you don't want to read that, I suppose you can stumble through.
> 
> Due to the fact that I wrote 10 thousand words of mature rated orignial fiction (essentially), I have had some trouble procuring an appropriate beta/britpicker, so all mistakes are my own. If you are interested in the role for chapters 2-4, please let me know!

**Edward and Harry’s flat, November 16th, 1954**

One day, Edward makes a startling discovery about Harry. The discovery comes as these discoveries often do, quite suddenly, on a Tuesday evening, as Harry retells the plot of a film he’d just seen in his usual roundabout way.

“And there’s this priest at the waterfront, and everyone’s throwing things at him, I forget why, but he tells Marlon Brando he has to testify. Well, that’s not what he says, but that’s what we’re supposed to take away from it. Oh, and the priest was in _Streetcar_ too, I can’t remember his name-”[1]

Edward isn’t really listening. He’s thinking about Harry, and how soft his skin is, how full his lips are, how the edge of his sleeve is hanging in the sauce on his plate. He thinks about how when he points it out, Harry will suck the sauce from his sleeve, and Edward will tell him how disgusting that is, and then Harry will smirk, and tell him how delicious it is, and then attempt to force Edward to lick it himself. That’s when Edward makes the discovery: he wants to spend the rest of his life eating beef Stroganoff sauce off a dirty sleeve if it means spending the rest of his life with Harry.

**Button House, November 18th, 1954**

“Edward!” Agnes says as she opens the door. “We were not expecting you.” 

“No, sorry, should have phoned ahead. Is Clarence in?” Edward asks, taking his hat off.

“Yes, he’ll be in his study. What do you need him for?”

“Oh, you know, private brotherly business.”

Agnes narrows her eyes. “You’re not in trouble are you?” 

“No, nothing of the sort!”

“If you are, you can tell me, you know.” She looks behind her, and then back at Edward. “We really do want to help in any way we can.”

“I appreciate it Aggie, I really do, but I’m fine. I’ve kept my nose clean and all that.”

Agnes nods. “Alright, come in then.”

When Edward enters the study, Clarence jumps.

“Sorry, so sorry,” he says, straightening his reading glasses. “You startled me. What are you doing here?” He frowns. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No, no,” Edward says, exasperated. “Why does everyone think I’m in trouble?”

“You’re something of a troublesome chap, Edward. So why are you here then?”

Edward runs his finger along the spines of Clarence’s books. “I need Dad’s pocket watch.”

“What for?”

“It’s mine. He promised it to me when he died.” His finger stops on a copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_. He plucks it from the shelf.

“Yes, I know it’s yours, but why now? It’s hardly your style.”

“Maybe I’m thinking of switching it up. Have you read this yet?” he asks, holding the book aloft.

“Of course, that’s why it’s on my shelf. That pocket watch was a wedding gift from Mum, you know. Very valuable.”

“I know.” Edward flips through the book. “It’s supposed to be quite good. Harry won’t stop raving about it. He’s a voracious reader, reads anything you put in front of him.” Edward smiles to himself.

“Oh Lord.” Clarence puts his head in his hands. “You really are in trouble, aren’t you?”

Edward smirks. “In a sense, yes.” He sits across from Clarence, suddenly serious. “I love him terribly, you know,” he says quietly. 

“I know.” Clarence rubs his eyes. “It’s at the bank, in a safety deposit box. I’ll get it tomorrow, drop it off at your flat.”

“Thank you, Clancy. That’s awfully decent of you.”

“Well, it’s yours to do with as you wish.” Both men stand up. “Would you like to stay? We’re having vegetable stew.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t.” Edward puts his hat back on his head. “I have to get back to the missus.”

**Edward and Harry’s Flat, February 22nd, 1955**

Edward doesn’t give Harry the pocket watch right away. He’s waiting for the perfect time. His opportunity comes the next year, when Harry asks him to come to America with him. 

“I’d like you to come to America with me,” he says very suddenly. The two of them are sitting on the sofa in their flat. Edward has been reading  _The Lancet_ ,[2] and Harry appears to have been reading  _Casino Royale_ ,[3] but it’s clear that he’s mostly been thinking.

“I didn’t know you were going to America,” Edward says, lowering the journal. 

“I got a letter from my mother this morning, she wants me to come visit, maybe in June? We could use a holiday, and I haven’t been home in ages.”

Edward nods thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s true. Have you been home at all since I met you?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, and they’re terrifically upset about it. I’ve got two nieces now I’ve never met.”

Edward puts his feet in Harry’s lap and leans on the sofa’s arm. “You don’t talk much about your family.”

Harry shrugs. “Not much to tell. I’ve got three younger sisters, two parents, and growing up we had one dog.” He massages Edward’s feet. “Come on, I’ve seen your ancestral home. I _know_ you’d like to see mine. You talk about it all the time.”

“Not _all_ the time. Look, of course I’d love nothing more than to see where you grew up, but a short trip to the country’s a bit different than a flight to America. Harder to explain.” _This is the worst part about aging,_ Edward thinks. _More and more men my age are married, and fewer and fewer are going on long trips with their friends from university._

“Yes, but you’ve never been to the States. It’ll be an adventure.”

“But I have been to the States,” Edward says petulantly. “1949, Miami. I had a delightful little ham and cheese sandwich.”[4]

Harry rolls his eyes. “Miami isn’t really America. It’s just shirtless men smoking cigars.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I liked about it.” 

“I don’t know why you’re being like this. I know you want to go. Come on, let’s get out of this crumby country.” Harry’s hand creeps up the back of Edward’s calf. “Besides, I don’t want to go without you,” he adds quietly.

Edward reaches his foot up and brushes his big toe against Harry’s nose, reveling in the disgusted face he makes.

“Of course I’ll go with you, dear. I’m just... A bit worried. How do you plan on explaining my presence to your parents?”

“I think saying you’re my friend will suffice. We’ll tell them how much you love Westerns, that you were dying to come. And if that’s not good enough for them, that’s their problem.”

Edward blushes. “I don’t like Westerns _that_ much.”

Harry flicks the sole of Edward’s foot.

“Ow!”

“You dirty liar! You have dragged me to so many horrible John Wayne films since I’ve met you. And now I’m offering you the chance to come to my parent’s cattle ranch in Montana and you’re behaving like this?”

“I already said I would go! But only on one condition.”

“What?”

“You have to wear the boots.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe I moved all the way to London to fall in love with a cowboy fetishist.”

“So that’s a yes on the boots?”

“Yes.”

**Billings, Montana, June 3rd, 1955**

After what feels like a million layovers but is really only two, Harry and Edward land at the Billings airport. Edward is surprisingly disappointed.

“Oh,” he says, looking out the window at Billings.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s a town.”

“Yes, what were you expecting?”

“Well, it’s rather a big town, don’t you think? I was expecting a lot more wide open spaces, you know. Cowboy country. Well, I suppose modernization comes for us all.”[5]

“I didn’t grow up in Billings, you dolt, this is just where the airport is.”

“Oh!” Edward says again, this time relieved. “So what’s next? We rent a car?”

Harry shakes his head. “No car rentals around here. The plan is we call our neighbors, the Cooleys, and they’ll tell my father, who’ll come pick us up.”

“Do your parents not have a phone?” 

“No, they don’t see the need for one. They figure as long as the Cooley’s have one, they’re set.”

“That’s a bit old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

“Well, sure, but that’s just how it is out here sometimes. I mean, we didn’t have electricity until 20 years ago,[6] they’re still catching up.”

“Twenty years ago?” Edward’s eyebrows shoot up. The romantic fantasy of cowboy country was alright in his head, but now, faced with the prospect of spending two weeks without even a telephone was seeming less romantic and more downright scary.

It turns out the nearest pay phone wasn’t at the airport, but about a mile away, on a college campus.[7] Edward does his best not to complain about the heat, or the distance, or the weight of his luggage, or the fact that his shoes are covered in dust. Still, the occasional dramatic sigh does manage to escape him.

“I know, I know, we’re close,” Harry promises. “Well, we’re about halfway there.”

Edward looks around, and seeing nobody, attempts to slip his hand into Harry’s. Harry jerks away violently.

“Come on, there’s nobody around,” Edward pouts.

“I know, just- not here, ok?” Harry puts his hand on Edward’s back, rubbing his thumb subtly along his shoulder blade. “I’m sorry dear, I just get nervous when I’m here.”

Edward looks like he’s about to respond, when he suddenly stops in his tracks.

“Oh Harry,” he breathes. “Can we?”

Harry follows Edward’s line of sight, then sighs. “Yes, of course we can. But let’s make the call first, yeah? It’s going to take an hour or so for my dad to get here anyway.”

“Of course, I can wait.” Edward nods seriously. “Onward we march!” So they continue, past the store windows filled with Western wear.

“Hello? Mrs. Cooley?” Harry says into the phone. “Mrs. Cooley, it’s me, Harry! Yes, we’ve arrived. Yes, it’s great to hear your voice as well. Yes, I’m so very happy to be back. Listen, tell my father to pick us up at the corner of Rimrock and- Yes, I’m very excited to meet Annie’s daughters. We’re at the corner of Rimrock and Virginia- no, I didn’t hear about John Granger. I’m very sad to hear that. Mrs. Cooley, if you could just tell my father- Oh, hello, Mrs Whitlock.[8] Yes, it’s me, Harry. Yes, I’m back. No, I was in England. I live there now. No, still not hitched. Listen, I’m just trying to ask Mrs. Cooley here- Yes! Yes! Rimrock and Virginia! By the college! Tell him to come as soon as he can! We’ll be waiting for him!” Harry hangs up the pay phone with a resounding click. “Alright Edward,” he says. “Let’s get you a hat.”

About an hour later, Roy Newell pulls up in a dark blue Cadillac to find his son Harry standing next to a man dressed in cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a cowboy hat. 

“You must be Edward,” Roy says, shaking Edward’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but you might have to take the hat off to fit in the car.”

The trip back to the Newell’s ranch is quite possibly the most harrowing hour of Edward’s life. The Cadillac barrels down the road at a speed Edward didn’t even know cars could reach.

“Is this legal?” Edward asks.

“You betcha! No speed limit here in Montana!” Roy calls back.[9]

“Alright, but is it safe?”[10]

“What are you, a sissy?”

“Pa!”

“No, I suppose not,” Edward mumbles, and tries his hardest not to throw up. 

Harry’s mother, Bessie Newell, greets Harry at the front door.

“Harry!” she shouts, wrapping Harry in a big hug. “Oh, my sweet boy. I’ve missed you so much.” Her face falls when she sees Edward exit the car. “Oh. I thought you were joking when you said you were bringing your friend.”

“No, Mama, I wasn’t.” The air is suddenly very tense. 

“Well! I’m sure we can find space for him. You two won’t be sharing a room,” she warns. 

“That’s fine, Mama.”

“It’s lovely to meet you Mrs. Newell,” Edward says, extending his hand. Bessie ignores it, instead turning around and walking back into the house.

“Don’t mind her,” Roy says. He claps Edward on the back, and then removes his hand just as quickly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to touch you. Didn't mean anything by it.” 

“No, no, of course not.” 

“Why don’t you go in with Bessie and Harry? I’ll unload the car.”

Edward does so, sprinting a bit to catch up with them.

“You have a lovely home,” Edward says as he makes his way into the surprisingly spacious kitchen. Bessie doesn’t respond.

“Did you repaint the outside? It looks good,” Harry says.

“We did. And a few years back your father built a house for Annie and Donald.”

“I saw that, it’s nifty. Are they in?”

“Should be. I expect Annie’ll be here to visit any minute, she must’ve seen the car. It’s been a good few years, beef prices are high.”

“And yet you still don’t have a telephone.”

“Are you complaining about the telephone?” Roy says as he lugs the suitcases inside. “I keep telling that woman we need to get one.”

“That’s the last thing we need!” Bessie exclaims. “You know how the women around here are. You wouldn’t get a single private conversation. I would always be worried Gladys Whitlock was listening in on my conversations. It’s not worth it.”

“But if you had a telephone, you could get calls from Janie,” Harry insists. 

“Janie wouldn’t call us. She’s too busy.” Bessie turns to Edward. “Our youngest, Jane, is a teacher in Bozeman.”

Edward is a little startled. These are the first words Bessie has actually addressed to him.

“It seems you have an awful lot of smart children,” Edward says.

Bessie smiles. “We really do.” She cranes her neck to look out the window. “But not smart enough to hear a car pull up. Roy, go get Annie. She’ll be mad if she misses this.”

Roy nods and leaves quietly.

“So how have you been?” Bessie asks, turning back to Harry. “Are you still painting?”

“Yes, of course, Mama. That’s why I moved to London.”

“He really is a terrific painter,” Edward interjects. “He’s been exhibited at all the top-notch places around London.”

“He always was talented,” Bessie says. “And money? You’re making enough?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“If you need money for rent, you let me know. We’ve got money now, and I’m sure we can figure out how a wire transfer works.”

“We actually own,” Edward says proudly. “Well, I own, but Harry contributes plenty.”

“Ah. I didn’t realize you two lived together.” Suddenly, it’s just as tense as it ever was.

“Harry!” a voice calls from the front door. Harry leaps up from his seat.

“Annie!” He cries. Bessie hasn’t taken her sharp gaze off of Edward. Edward turns away awkwardly, toward the front door.

In quick succession, Edward is introduced to Harry’s sister Annie, then Annie’s daughters Debbie, who is four, and Cynthia, who is 7 months old. Later, at dinner, he is introduced to Annie’s husband Donald, Harry’s sister Norma, and Norma’s husband Frank. The chaos of a large family manages to distract Bessie from her scrutiny of Edward. In fact, the only people who pay him any attention at dinner are Harry’s sisters, who are fascinated by Edward’s Englishness.

“I’ve never met a real English person before,” Annie says. “I’ve only heard them on the radio and in the movies.”

“Cary Grant’s English,” Norma says.

“No he’s not!”

“Yes he is! I read it. He just does an accent for the movies.” Norma turns to Edward. “Say, do you know Cary Grant?”

“Regretfully, I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

“'Regretfully, I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance!'” Norma and Annie parrot back to each other in their best attempt at an English accent.[11] It’s not very convincing. They devolve into a fit of giggles.

“Edward, are you married?” Norma asks. Annie kicks her under the table, a little harder than is strictly necessary. “Oh! Right. Right. Sorry.”

Edward sneaks a glance to the other side of the table, where Harry is having an animated conversation with Debbie. 

“Harry’s doing alright, isn’t he?” Annie asks. “We never hear from him.”

“He’s doing very well. He’s happy.”

“Good. He was something of a moody young man.”

“You can say that again,” Norma adds. “And his painting is going well?”

“Yes, very well.”

“We should show you something,” Annie says. 

Norma’s eyes light up. “Oh! Yes! We should!” She stands up abruptly. “Mama, we’re going to show Edward something.”

“What? What are you showing him?” Harry says.

“Oh, nothing embarrassing, we promise,” Annie says dismissively.

“Oh no, I don’t trust you. I’m coming too.”

“No, you can’t come.” Norma grabs Edward’s hand and tugs. “Come on, Edward, follow us.”

Norma and Annie lead Edward to the Newell’s surprisingly well-appointed living room. 

“It’s a lovely room,” he says politely.

“It’s not the room,” Norma insists, “it’s the painting. Look.” She turns Edward around, pointing him at a large painting of the Newell house. 

“Harry painted it,” Annie tells him.

“Oh my,” Edward breathes. It’s nothing like the Harry paintings he’s used to. The style is realistic, and displays the kind of technical mastery Harry generally spurns. Still, it’s beautiful.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Annie says. “I would ask him to do my house, but I don’t have any paints.”

“I’m not sure it would look like this, anyway,” Edward says, “his style’s a bit more… _avant garde_ these days.”

“Oh, we know,” Norma says. “I visited him once when he was in college, in New York. His paintings were mostly just shapes and colors. But they were pretty though, in their own way.” She smiles. “You know, our parents still think Harry went to school to study animal husbandry, can you imagine? I don’t think they even offer animal husbandry at Columbia.”

Edward laughs. “No, I can’t imagine they do. Can I ask something of a personal question?”

“Please do,” Annie says. Norma giggles nervously.

“Why doesn’t Harry ever come home? He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Norma and Annie give each other a look. 

“There was an incident,” Annie begins, her voice low, “when Harry was 26, right after he got back from college.[12] There was a farmhand, I don’t remember his name-”

“Bill,” Norma supplies.

“Right, Bill. Mama caught them in the horse stables. She didn’t tell us the details, but from the sense I got, neither of them were wearing pants, if you know what I mean. They got into a big fight. Bill was fired, of course. Mama wanted to send Harry to some sort of psychiatrist, but he said there wasn’t anything wrong with him, and that he was an adult, anyway, so she couldn’t make him. So he packed up all his stuff, and within a week, he was back in New York. About two years later, we got a letter telling us he was moving to London, and well, you know the rest, I guess.” 

“So there’s a lot of bad blood between them,” Edward says.

“I think Mama always thought that Harry would have a change of heart,” Norma says, “that he’d meet some nice English girl and come back to take over the ranch.”

“I see.” Edward was 31 when his own mother passed. He wonders if she was still holding onto the hope that he’d change his mind.

“It was a real heartbreak for her,” Norma continues, “they were terrifically close before all that. Harry was something of a mama’s boy.”

“Must have been hard on both of them.”

“Hello?” Harry says, peeking into the living room. “They’ve sent me to find you.”

“Oh please,” Annie says, “you’ve sent yourself.”

“Well, I was worried. What trash have you been bombarding him with?”

“Nothing!” Norma says, affronted. “We were showing him your painting.” 

“Ah yes.” Harry regards the painting, hands in his pockets. “Home on the Range, I call it. Our grandfather actually built this place, you know. It sort of feels… I don’t know, like it’s part of me I suppose.”

Edward thinks about his own childhood home, Button House, home to six generations of Buttons. He knows exactly what Harry means.

“It’s magnificent,” Edward says. He places his hand gently on Harry’s elbow. Harry smiles and leans into the touch. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you are interested in being a beta/britpicker, or if you just want to chat, hit me up on Tumblr of Discord at Ladiesloveduranduran, or you can send me a letter at my personal address: 201 E Randolph St, Chicago, IL 60602
> 
> Notes:  
> 1 On The Waterfront, 1954. The priest was played by Karl Malden, who was, in fact, in A Streetcar Named Desire with Marlon Brando. [return to text]
> 
> 2One of the world’s leading medical journals. [return to text]
> 
> 3Ian Fleming, 1953. The first of the James Bond novels. [return to text]
> 
> 4Also known as a cubano. Give me any major American city and I’ll tell you what (and who) Edward did there in 1949. [return to text]
> 
> 5The population of Billings, Montana would have been around 40,000 in 1955. Now? It's a whopping 109,577. Modernization really does come for us all. [return to text]
> 
> 6A lot of places in rural America didn't get electricity until the 30s when the Rural Electrification Act of 1936, part of President Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal, provided federal loans to bring electricity to rural areas. In 1949, the Rural Electrification Administration began providing rural Americans with phones, but it's not unreasonable to think that the Newells might have declined to get one. [return to text]
> 
> 7Eastern Montana College of Education, which is now Montana State University Billings. Go Yellowjackets! [return to text]
> 
> 8The Newell's neighbors would have had a party line, meaning that any of the other neighbors on the party line could have just picked up the phone and joined the conversation. [return to text]
> 
> 9Montana very famously didn't have any daytime highway speed limits until 1974, when Congress passed a national daytime speed limit of 55 mph in an attempt to deal with the gas crisis. Montana chose to deal with this by enacting a $5 fine ($25 or £19) for speed limit breakers, and these tickets didn't go on your driving record. Montana didn't have a REAL speed limit that they actually enforced until 1999, when they made 75 mph (120 kph) the highway speed limit. [return to text]
> 
> 10Keep in mind this car would not have had seatbelts. So no, it was not safe. [return to text]
> 
> 11It is a truth universally acknowledged that American women love nothing more than an English accent. [return to text]
> 
> 12As a veteran, Harry would have been able to go to college for free after the war on the newly enacted GI Bill, hence why he was so old when he graduated. [return to text]


	2. Gunsmoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward gets to be a cowboy, Harry gets to be a grown man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few thank yous before we get started:
> 
> A VERY special thanks to a_bit_not_good_yeah, my beta, who helped me SO much with so many elements of this fic, particularly characterization and knowing when to put in quotation marks.
> 
> Thanks also to FlyingCatPerson for coming in clutch in the fourth quarter to Britpick for me! 
> 
> And finally, a special thanks to YOU, dear reader, for putting up with this self indulgence and reading about Edward and Harry's little love story. I couldn't have done it without ya.
> 
> Alright, on with the show!

**The Newell Farm, June 4th, 1955**

After a night spent in Annie’s childhood bedroom, Edward awakens to a delicious smell. He descends the stairs to find Harry in the kitchen, making pancakes.

“Since when do you make breakfast?” Edward asks. He leans against the counter next to the stove, picking at an already-made pancake.

“Just thought I’d do something nice for my mother,” Harry says. “If you’re going to eat that, get a plate.” 

“That’s too much effort. I’m lazy.”

Harry puts down his spatula. “You’re not lazy,” he says. He puts his hands on the counter, on either side of Edward’s waist. “You’re just trouble.”

Edward looks up at Harry and grins. Harry looks so handsome. His hair is uncombed and his eyes are so brown and Edward wants him, he wants him so badly. He knows that if they were in their own flat, Harry would be kissing him by now, he would lift Edward up onto the counter and put his hands under his pajama shirt and-

“Ahem.” Bessie clears her throat as she enters the kitchen. “Good morning.”

Harry and Edward jump apart.

“Good morning,” Harry says, staring furiously at the stovetop. “I’m making pancakes.” His hand is shaking as he picks up the spatula.

“And I was looking for the plates,” Edward adds.

“Over there,” Bessie says, pointing to a cabinet. 

“Thank you.” Edward scurries away from Harry to set the table.

“So, what do you boys plan on doing today?” Bessie asks as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“I’m taking Edward riding, I want to show him the ranch.” 

“Sounds fun. Take Annie with you.”

“I’m not taking Annie, Mama. She’s got two kids and Donald’s working, I’m sure it would be more annoying than fun.”

“It doesn’t have to be Annie, but it has to be somebody.” Bessie takes a sip of her coffee. “You two aren’t going out there alone.”

Harry finally turns to face his mother. “I’m thirty-two years old, Mama,” he says sharply.

“And you’re on my ranch.” Bessie and Harry glare at each other, until Edward interrupts them.

“I like Annie,” he says. “She seems like a lovely girl. I’d love to go riding with her.”

“Wonderful,” Bessie says. “Tell Annie I’ll stop by and check on her kids.”

Harry doesn’t say anything as they walk from the big house to Annie’s house. Edward’s never seen Harry this angry before. He wants to hold Harry’s hand, to soothe him, but he’s afraid that will just make it worse.

Harry doesn’t so much knock on Annie’s door as bang on it. He’s still banging when Annie throws the door open.

“What?” she shouts. “What do you want?”

“Mama says you have to come riding with us,” Harry says.

“Well I can’t. I have laundry to do, and Mama’s gonna want me to help with dinner later, so I have to get it done now.”

“Listen, I don’t want you to come either, but Mama said you have to,” Harry says petulantly.

“I don’t care!”

“Listen Annie, it would mean a lot to us if you came,” Edward interjects. He can see this argument is going nowhere quickly. “Your mother doesn’t want us to be alone together, so she won’t let us go riding without you. She also says she’ll come by and look in on your children.”

Annie’s face softens. “Alright. I can go for a short ride.”

“You know how to ride, right?” Harry asks, as they approach the stable.

“Of course I know how to ride,”[1] Edward says, affronted. “I grew up in the country.”

“Oh, you’re a farm boy too?” Annie asks.

Harry snorts. “Hardly.” He holds open the stable doors for the other two.

“I grew up in a manor house,” Edward explains, “in the countryside.”

“Oh.” Annie thinks for a moment. “You mean, like in  _ Pride and Prejudice _ ? Like Pemberley?”

“No, nothing like Pemberley. Pemberley is in the North of England. I’m from the South.”[2]

“It’s exactly like Pemberley,” Harry says. “Okay, which horse should we give Edward?”

Edward is eventually assigned to a chestnut colt named Rio. 

“He’s beautiful,” Edward says as Harry tightens the saddle for him. 

“You talking about the horse or me?” Harry jokes. Edward laughs, but his eyes slip down to the back of Harry’s jeans.  _ Good Lord,  _ he thinks,  _ if Annie weren’t here I’d turn him around, rip open that flannel shirt and- _

“Are y’all tacked up?” Annie asks. She’s already sitting astride her own horse. “I wasn’t kidding about the short ride.”

“We’re all ready,” Harry calls. He tips his hat at Edward. “Alright, saddle up, pardner.”

The Newell ranch is even more beautiful than Edward could have imagined. Edward finally understands why Harry calls it “Big Sky Country.” The sky here is truly big in a way that’s hard to describe. Maybe it’s the flat earth, maybe it’s the lack of buildings or trees in any direction. 

“So if you’re from Pemberley,” Annie says, as if the thirty minutes since they last discussed  _ Pride and Prejudice _ hadn’t happened, “does that make you Mr. Darcy?”

“I think so,” Edward says, at the same time Harry says “absolutely not!”

Annie laughs. “That’s such an Elizabeth Bennett response.”

“It is not!” 

“The difference is,” Edward interrupts, “I knew I liked Harry right away.”

“That’s not true at all!” Harry says. “You were so rude to me!”

“I was not!”

“How did you two meet?” Annie asks.

“Gallery opening,” Edward says. “I was there with my friend Connie, one of the nurses from work.”

“A date?” Annie asks.

“I think she thought it was. Anyway, we get there, and I see this incredibly handsome man smoking a cigarette inside, which was against the rules of this particular gallery. So I approached him and said, ‘You know those things will kill you.’”[3]

“See, you were rude to me!”

“I was not _ rude _ . I’m a doctor, that’s my job.”

“He was rude,” Harry says to Annie.

“Seems like a gray area,” she says. “Continue.”

“Well, he called me a square, and asked what a square like me was doing at the opening, and I said I had heard very good things about the artist, Harry Newell, and he said that was him, and would I like to smoke a cigarette outside, or was I too square to smoke at all? And of course I said yes, and, well, I don’t think I saw Connie again for the rest of the night.”

“That’s so romantic,” Annie sighs. “It really is like  _ Pride and Prejudice _ .”

“He’s lucky he’s so handsome,” Harry says, “or else I would have extinguished my cigarette in his face.” 

Annie laughs. Then she purses her lips thoughtfully. “You know, I really ought to go do laundry,” she says.

“Oh come on, Annie, we just started,” Harry complains. 

“No, no, I really have to do it. I’m going back now.” She tugs on the reins, turning her horse around. “I assume you two are following me,” she calls out, “but I’m in too much of a hurry to turn around and check.” Her horse walks off, leaving Harry, Edward, and their horses behind. 

“Thanks Annie!” Harry calls.

“You owe me!”

“Come on,” Harry says to Edward, “let’s go this way.” 

Harry leads them toward a fence about a half-mile away. He slides off, then walks over to help Edward dismount.

“I know how to get off a horse,” Edward complains.

“I know,” Harry says. Then he whispers: “I just like touching you.”[4]

Edward tilts his head up for a kiss, but Harry just walks away.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” Harry says as he secures the horses to the fence.

“In the dirt?”

“Come on, you’re a cowboy now.” 

Edward rolls his eyes before sitting on the ground. Soon, Harry settles next to him. He brings his hand up to cup Edward’s face, and finally, finally, he kisses him. 

“Goddamn,” Harry says, “I haven’t kissed you since we left London.”

“I could hardly stand it,” Edward says, then kisses him again, and again, and again, until he realizes Harry’s crying softly. “Wait, wait stop,” he says, putting his hand on Harry’s chest. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, he just cries harder. He buries his face in Edward’s chest. Edward runs his fingers through Harry’s hair soothingly. “I’ve got you, love,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

“We came all this way, we’re here for two weeks, and I’m not even allowed to touch you.” Harry grips Edward’s waist. “And my mother, she’s, I knew she wouldn’t approve, but I didn’t realize how much it would  _ hurt _ , God, and you know, it’s not fair, because I’m pretty sure Janie is a little light in  _ her _ loafers,[5] if you know what I mean, but she’s still the golden child-” 

“Harry.” This aside about Jane is interesting, but Edward gets the sense it isn’t really what Harry wants to talk about.

Harry looks up at Edward. “I love my mother, I do, I do, and I want to make her happy, but I choose you, I choose  _ me _ , I choose- every time, Edward, every time I choose us.”

“Oh Harry. And I choose you.” 

Harry lays his head back on Edward’s chest. “I just didn’t realize how much choosing would hurt.” 

They stay there like that for a few minutes, Edward petting Harry’s head while Harry cries into Edward’s chest. His father’s watch feels heavy in Edward’s pocket. He had planned to give it to Harry on their ride, surrounded by the majesty that is Montana, but it hardly feels appropriate now.

“I wish we could leave,” Harry whispers. 

“Why don’t we?”

Harry sits up. “What?”

“Let’s leave. Tomorrow. Jane is coming to dinner tonight, right? So you’ll see her, and tomorrow we’ll leave.”

“Edward no, I can’t do that to you. This is your vacation. You took time off for it.”

“We don’t have to go home. We can go anywhere. We can go to New York! I’ve always wanted to go there.” Edward wraps his hand around Harry’s. “Harry, if you’re not happy, I’m not happy. If you want to stay, we should stay, but if you don’t-”

“Let’s go to New York,” Harry says suddenly. “You can meet my old friends. I’ll take you to all the museums. You’ll love it. We can hear Thelonious play.”

Edward wrinkles his nose. “Maybe.”

Harry laughs. “You’ll go for me.”

“I’ll go for you.” He kisses Harry, long, and slow, and deep, and as crazy as it sounds, he can almost swear he can taste how much Harry loves him.

Edward feels Harry’s hand slip between his legs. 

“Come on,” Harry murmurs into his ear, “we’ve only got so long before my mother realizes we’re out here alone.”

Americans, Edward has decided, are very loud.[6] Dinner at the Newell house involves almost as much shouting as it does eating, as the family attempts to communicate from across the table.

“Janie,” Annie calls, “convince Mama and Daddy that they need to get a phone.”

“Not this again,” Bessie says. “I ain’t got anybody I want to talk to.” 

“What about me, Mama?” Jane asks. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”

“You would never call me.”

“I would too!”

“Can someone pass the potatoes?” Edward asks, but nobody hears him.

“Harry,” Donald asks, “What are you two doing tomorrow? Henry Dawson got a new tractor, and I was going to go take a look in the morning, if you’d like to join.”[7]

“Actually,” Harry says, “Edward and I are leaving tomorrow.”

The table is silent.

“Leaving?” Norma asks. “Leaving for where?”

“New York.” Harry spears some peas with his fork. 

“You were supposed to be here for two weeks,” Bessie says.

“We were, but we’ve changed our minds.”

“But you just got here,” Jane complains.

“I know. But quite frankly, I don’t feel very welcome.”

The table is silent again. Edward moves his foot so it touches Harry’s.

“Well excuse me,” Bessie says, finally, “for not rolling out the red carpet for you and the English pansy.”

“Mama!” Annie says.

“Bessie,” Roy warns.

Harry stands up. “This is exactly what I mean. I don’t know what I expected when I came home. I have been nothing but respectful to you since I got here, but if you-”

“Respectful?” Bessie stands. “Boy, nothing you have done in my house is respectful. Don’t think I don’t know you two were riding alone without Annie. Lord knows what you two did.”

Donald quickly stands up, lifting Cynthia out of her high chair. “I don’t think the little ones need to listen to this,” he says. He and Annie usher their kids into the living room.

“I think you know exactly what we did,” Harry says. His eyes are dark and hard.

Edward puts his hand on Harry’s elbow. “Harry, maybe we should-”

“I don’t know where I went wrong,” Bessie says. “Maybe we didn’t go to church enough. Maybe I let you listen to too much radio. But somehow I ended up with a faggot for a son.”

“Don’t you dare speak to him that way,” Edward says, rising from his chair. “Your son came all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to be with you. Because he loves you. And if you can’t love him back, then you don’t deserve to have him here.”

“We’re leaving tonight,” Harry says. “We’ll walk if we have to. I don’t care.” Without another word, he leaves the kitchen. Edward follows close behind.

“Harry,” he says, but Harry doesn’t respond.

Edward follows Harry into his childhood bedroom. Harry sits on his bed and puts his face in his hands.

“What have I done?” he whispers.

“Oh Harry.” Edward sits down next to him, and puts his arms around him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You did exactly what you needed to do.” He presses his lips to Harry’s temple.

“We can’t actually walk,” Harry says. “It’s almost 80 miles to the airport.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Edward murmurs. “We can steal a horse and ride there.”

Harry smiles, and leans into Edward’s arms.

Both men look up as they hear footsteps approach the doorway. Edward curses himself silently for not closing the door.

“Boys,” Roy says, as he enters the room, “you better get packed. I’m driving you to Billings.”

“Really?” Harry asks. Edward doesn’t let go of him.

“There’s a motel near the airport, you can stay there for the night.” Roy turns to leave, but then turns back. “Listen, I’m not saying I approve of everything you… do. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, I don’t know. But I also figure you’re a man now, and a man’s got to make his own decisions about how he lives his life. He can’t obey his mama forever.” He nods his head. “I’m proud of you, son.”

“Thank you, Pa.” Harry sits up straight, and nods at his father. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get packed.”

Everybody but Bessie comes to see them off, even Debbie and Cynthia, who are barely awake.

“Goodbye Uncle Harry!” Debbie says as Harry hugs her tightly. “I miss you already.”

“I miss you too, Debbie. Maybe one day you can come visit me in London.”

“Don’t promise her anything,” Annie warns. She wraps her arms around Edward. “Lovely to meet you, Edward. Take good care of him, alright?”

“Of course.” 

“Alright, pack it in,” Roy calls from the front seat. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

As the car drives away, Edward and Harry wave at the small crowd. They keep waving and waving until the house fades out of view.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to talk to me about anything at all, you can find me on Tumblr and Discord at Ladiesloveduranduran, or on Twitter as @BarackObama.
> 
> Notes:  
> 1The style of horse riding Edward is used to, English, is different in many ways from the style of riding these horses would be equipped for, Western. However, I didn't feel like getting into it. [return to text]
> 
> 2Pemberley, Mr. Darcy’s estate in _Pride and Prejudice,_ was somewhere south of Manchester. In this fic, Button House is in Surrey. [return to text]
> 
> 3By 1952 (when Harry and Edward met) scientists were starting to discover that cigarettes cause lung cancer, although tobacco companies were doing everything in their power to hide it. By 1960, only one third of US doctors believed there was sufficient proof that cigarettes cause cancer. Edward knows that cigarettes are bad for you, but, like many people in 2020, he smokes anyway. [return to text]
> 
> 4This is a callback to the very first line we hear Harry say in _1944_ : “I don’t need your help opening the door,” the man in the passenger seat says crossly, but he still takes Edward’s extended hand and allows Edward to help him out of the car. [return to text]
> 
> 5Jane Newell lives with another school teacher named Maryanne Pedersen in Bozeman and they only have one bed because that’s all they can afford on a teacher’s salary and also they don’t have heating so if they have to cuddle at night who can blame them? But that’s another story. [return to text]
> 
> 6Seeing as Edward's experience with America is Miami and the Newell family, this is a very reasonable conclusion to make (in his defense, we ARE a loud people). [return to text]
> 
> 7You really have to wonder what Harry thought they were going to do in Montana for TWO WEEKS. He must have heard Henry Dawson was thinking about getting a new tractor. [return to text]


	3. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to salvage their vacation, Edward and Harry go to the City That Never Sleeps. They do manage to get a little sleep, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, by far, my favorite chapter in this fic, and I hope you enjoy it even a fraction as much as I do. 
> 
> I'm so sorry I wrote a story that takes place in New York. I really considered if I could make this fic be set somewhere else, like maybe Chicago or Philadelphia, but at the end of the day New York was the epicenter of the art scene at the time, and if I want Harry to be a pretty successful Abstract Expressionist (which I do!) he has to have some relationship to New York City. I'm sorry. If you're reading this and you're from New York, I'm doubly sorry. That must be awful.
> 
> This fic really would be nothing without my beta a_bit_not_good_yeah, who really helped me shape this chapter into what it is. She has an uncanny ability to figure out what I want from my fic and how I can get it.
> 
> Thanks as well to FlyingCatPerson for Britpicking, as well as giving their expert opinion on what music the Young Folks like.

**New York City, June 5th, 1955**

Edward and Harry are greeted at Idlewild[1] by John and Elaine, two of Harry’s friends from his New York days. Edward has heard a great deal about the two of them over the past three years. He knows John Van der Kley used to buy three dozen donuts to share with Harry in their dorm room, where they would stay up all night talking about the meaning of life and whether or not John Wayne[2] did his own stunts. He knows Elaine Silverman once painted a building’s worth of chalkboards red, white, and blue, in what Harry called “a masterful protest piece against the  _ propaganda  _ being taught in the Barnard[3] political science department.” They had reached a sort of legendary status in Edward’s mind, and it’s a bit odd to see them in real life.

“Hello!” John cries as he greets them. He wraps Harry in a crushing hug, which Harry returns eagerly. “Goddamn, it’s good to see you.” 

“You too. You have no idea how happy I am to be here.” 

“We’re very glad to have you,” Elaine says, wrapping her arms around Harry and giving him a kiss on the cheek. John uses the distraction to steal the suitcase from Harry’s hand.

“Oh no,” Harry says warningly, “I’m not letting you carry that-”

“You must be Edward,” John says, cutting him off. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You as well,” Edward says, shaking his hand.

“We’ve heard so much about you! All awful, of course,” Elaine says with mock seriousness. 

“Well, I’m sure you know not to trust a word Harry says.” Edward shakes Elaine’s hand.

“Of course not.” 

Once again, John uses Elaine’s distraction to take the suitcase from Edward’s hand. Edward wonders if they planned it ahead of time.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-”

“Too late, I’ve got them. You’re our guests, I’ll carry the suitcases.”

“I thought we were supposed to meet you at your place,” Harry says. 

“You were, but we changed our minds,” Elaine says with a shrug. “We couldn’t let you land in Queens by yourself. It’s a lawless place.”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?” Harry asks.

“We did!” John says. “I bought a hot rod.”[4]

“You live in Manhattan,” Harrys says, as John leads them to the parking lot.

Elaine rolls her eyes. “He never gets to drive it. That’s the real reason we picked you up.”

“She’s not wrong. But I also couldn’t leave a poor Englishman to fend for himself in  _ Queens. _ ”

If Edward is honest with himself, he has to admit he was prepared to be jealous of John. He knows he and Harry were very close, and he often wondered if there wasn’t some level of infatuation between them.

He knows now he has nothing to worry about. Firstly, John isn’t nearly so good looking as Edward is. Edward isn’t a vain man (mostly), but he knows the way women and men look at him. He’s handsome, in the most objective sense. John, for his part, has a pleasant enough face, but he’s a bit short, and his hair is thinning. Edward had always pictured him as a tall, broad, All-American football player type, but he looks nothing like the picture of Frank Gifford[5] in Harry’s studio that Harry thinks he doesn’t know about.

More importantly, Harry and John’s relationship is intimate, but clearly not romantic. John and Harry talk excitedly all the way to the car, but after their initial hug, they don’t touch once. Harry listens intently as John explains all the very modern and impressive things about his Chevy Bel Air’s engine, but he’s looking at the car, not at John. It’s nothing like the fond look Edward sometimes catches Harry giving him, when Edward is explaining some particularly boring point about the latest antibiotic.[6] Harry remembers the details of every letter John has sent him in the last five years, but Edward knows for a fact that John’s letters are in a cigar box at the back of Harry’s closet, while the one letter Edward ever sent him sits on top of his dresser, and the paper is beginning to disintegrate from how often Harry rereads it.

But even if Harry did harbor some secret desire for John, Edward knows he has nothing to worry about on John’s end, because he is completely besotted with Elaine. He looks at her in a way Edward has never seen a man look at a woman, not even his father towards his mother. When he looks at her his eyes go soft and his mouth twitches into an involuntary smile, as if the joy in his heart can’t help but spill onto his face. John looks at Elaine so often and with such a dopey expression, Edward worries he’ll drive them off the road. He wonders if he’s that obvious when he looks at Harry.[7]

“Have you ever been to New York before, Edward?” Elaine asks. She’s sitting in the passenger seat, turned all the way around to face Edward.

“I have not. I’ve always wanted to go.”

“You’re going to love it. It’s the greatest city on earth. Everything’s happening here.” She turns to Harry. “I have no idea why  _ you _ left.”

“It’s a good thing I did, or I never would have met Edward.” 

Edward smiles as Harry grabs hold of his hand. “You met Harry in college, yes?”

“We did,” John says. “There was a whole group of us, we used to do art, write poetry, smoke reefer. You know, college things.”

“Truly our Halcyon days,” Harry says with a smile.

“So you two have been together since college?” Edward asks.

“Oh God, no,” Elaine says, “we didn’t start dating until about a year ago. We’ve been engaged for four months.”

“They were always in love though,” Harry says. “You could tell.”

“I was,” John says with a smile, “from the moment I met her.”

“John, darling, eyes on the road, please.”

“Sorry, dear.”

“So what took you so long?” Edward squeezes Harry’s hand.

“Cultural differences,” John says.

“I’m Jewish,” Elaine explains. “His Episcopalian parents wouldn’t have approved.”

“But a year ago I decided to say, screw it. I love her, I’ve always loved her, I want to be with her. And my parents disapprove, but my trust fund’s through my grandfather, so there’s nothing they can do about it. I just wish I had a Jewish girlfriend sooner.”

“Well of course you do,” Elaine says. “Jewish girls have fantastic tits.”

“I didn’t say that,” John says, “but I don’t disagree.”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed either way,” Edward says wryly. “What about your parents?” he asks Elaine. “What do they think?” 

“He’s going to convert, so they don’t mind.” She puts her hand on John’s shoulder. “But even if they did mind, I’d tell them to stuff it. I love him more than anything else on earth. I’m not about to let Nathan and Myra Silverman stand in the way.”

“So this is our pad,” John says, throwing open the door. Harry struggles in behind him carrying both suitcases. He and John had practically wrestled in the street for the privilege of carrying them. 

“You two live together?” Edward asks.

“Of course not!” Elaine exclaims, hand to her chest. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

“She just sleeps here almost every night,” John says, “and leaves her books all over the place.”

“Sounds like our flat,” Edward says. “We have bookshelves, Harry just won’t use them.”

“I like to know where my books are!” 

“If you put them on the bookshelf, you’d know they were on the bookshelf.”

“Oh, what do you know?” Harry turns to Elaine. “He never reads anything, no matter how much I beg him.”

“That’s not true!”

“It is. What are you reading right now?” Harry asks Elaine.

She picks a book up off the coffee table. “ _ The Complete Works of Thomas Thorne _ . He was this minor Romantic poet. He’s a bit of a Byron copycat, but it’s alright.” 

“Let me see.” Harry takes the book from her, thumbing through it.

“Oh God, they’re talking poetry.” John rolls his eyes. “I could never stand it. What are you into, Edward? Do you like Jazz? We were thinking of taking you two to a club tonight.”

“I do, but I don’t really go in for that Bebop stuff Harry likes. I like Billie Holiday, that type of thing.”

John laughs. “You really are an old man.”

Edward frowns. “I’m 37.”

“Don’t worry, I’m just making fun. I like Billie. I saw her at a club once, she’s got stage presence. But you’ll like this show tonight, I swear. This place is Beatsville, USA.”

“Are we going out tonight?” Harry asks, looking up from his book.

“Oh yes, to this wonderful little club. It’s swinging, I promise.”

“The more you promise, the more I fear we’ll hate it,” Edward says wearily. 

“No, you’ll like it,” Elaine insists. “Besides, we want to introduce you to some people. Our friend Robert, and what’s the other one’s name?”

“Jasper,” John says.

“Yes, Robert and Jasper. They do the sort of art you do, Harry, and they’re very good. I’m doing a show with Robert next month.”

“Oh yes, you’ll love them,” John says. “I showed them that photo you sent me, of that painting you did? What was it called?”

“Verdigris,” Harry says.

“Yes, that one. They loved it. They’re dying to meet you.”

“Really?” Harry puffs his chest up. “Alright then, I guess we’ll have to go.”

The nightclub[8] is poorly lit, seedy, and completely filled with smoke. It’s the sort of place where the floor is sticky and all the women wear pants. Edward is very glad Harry talked him out of wearing a tie.

“John! Elaine!” Edward follows the voice to its source, the skinniest man he’s ever seen. He’s sitting next to the second skinniest man Edward’s ever seen. They both appear to be in their mid-twenties, and they’re both wearing the sort of turtlenecks that Harry favors.

“Hello!” Elaine cries, leading their little party toward them. She kisses each of them in turn. “This is Robert and Jasper.”

“And you must be Harry,” Robert says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Who’s the old man?” Jasper asks. 

“I’m 37,” Edward mumbles.

“This is my roommate, Edward,” Harry says. “It’s great to meet you both.”

“Roommate?” Robert asks as they sit down.

“Exactly,” Harry says.

“I see. Jasper’s my "roommate" as well, although we aren’t jungled up.”[9]

Harry nods. “I dig it.”

“When does the band start?” Edward asks.

John frowns. “They’re playing now.”

“Oh!” Edward flushes. “I thought they were warming up.”

“Don’t listen to a lot of modern stuff, do you?” Jasper asks. He’s looking at Edward with what can best be described as disdain.

“N-no, not really. I’ll get us some drinks, shall I?” he says awkwardly.

“I’ll have a whiskey soda,” Harry says. 

“As will I,” Jasper says.

“I’ll have a rum and coke.”

“That sounds delicious, actually, me as well.”

“Gin and tonic for me please.”

“Great,” Edward says through his teeth. Apparently he’s buying drinks for the whole bar.

He feels a bit like a cocktail waitress[10] when he returns carrying six drinks on a tray. Harry and the others are embroiled in a serious discussion of the merits of Dave Brubeck. 

“Brubeck,” Edward says as he puts the drinks down. “Is he the one I like?”

“You don’t like any of them,” Harry says.

“What do you like, Edward?” Jasper sneers. “Pat Boone?”[11]

“I know music,” Edward snaps, “I was going to jazz clubs back when you were still learning long division.”

“Oh please,” Elaine says coolly, “Jasper still doesn’t know long division.”

The entire table laughs. Harry puts his hand on Edward’s knee.

“Neddy, do you have a light?” Harry asks quietly. Edward pulls out his lighter and Harry sticks his cigarette in his mouth, leaning his face in close to light it. He looks up at Edward with shining eyes and Edward’s heart melts, any residual anger he feels slipping away. 

They’re only at the club for about an hour before Edward can’t take it anymore. The gin and the cigarettes and the marijuana and the complex syncopation are all a little too much for him. 

“I think,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, “I need to go home.” 

“Alright,” Harry says, “let’s go.”

“No, I don’t want to make you leave. It’s still early, have fun with your friends. This old man needs to go to sleep.” 

“No, no, I’m ready.” Harry’s hand wanders up Edward’s thigh. “Let’s get out of here.” He turns to John and Elaine. “I think we’re ready to split. We’re still jet-lagged.”

“Alright.” Elaine digs in her purse. “Here, take my keys. We’ll see you later.”

“You’ve got your own keys?” Harry asks with a smirk. “I thought you didn’t live there.”

“Can the lip, it’s for emergencies.”

“Alright. Come on Edward, let’s fall out.” Harry stands. “It was really swell to meet you two,” he says to Jasper and Robert, “but I’ve got to put this one to bed.”

Edward sighs in relief as they leave the club. He’d almost forgotten what fresh air tasted like.

“Come on, let’s walk,” Harry says.

“You hate walking.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks. Besides, we can’t talk properly in a cab.” Harry laughs. “God, I hated that place.”

“You did?”

“It was so pretentious. And everyone talked through the whole set. You can’t really  _ dig _ bebop if you don’t listen.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.” Then, quietly, Edward adds, “They made me feel a bit stupid, you know. I never feel I can keep up with your friends.”

Harry frowns. “Edward, what are you talking about? You’re very smart. You’re a  _ doctor _ .”

“I know, but I’m not- I mean, I’m a simple man, you know? I _ like _ Pat Boone. And I always feel like, if only I was smarter, I would like the things you like.”

“If only you  _ were _ smarter.” Harry laughs as Edward tries to push him off the sidewalk. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Listen, liking hip things doesn’t make you smart, it just makes you hip. You’re smart. And more importantly, you’re  _ kind. _ For what it’s worth, John and Elaine like you, I can tell. So who cares what  _ Jasper _ thinks.”

“I hated him,” Edward says quickly.

“I know.”

“At one point, when you were getting drinks, I said I love Grace Hartigan’s[12] use of form, and he said she was a raging bitch. I hate when men talk about women like that.”

“I know. It was awful. And the reefer, Jesus, how much did they smoke?”

“A lot.”

“I mean I love reefer, but not when I’m drinking. It’s too much. I don’t know how John and Elaine do it every weekend.”

“They’re 28. You can do anything when you’re 28.”

Harry smiles. “What were you doing when you were 28?”

Edward looks thoughtful. “I was still at my practice in Guildford. And I was sleeping with a baker.”

Harry gasps. “A baker?”

“Yes, he was married. It was very scandalous.”

“Tell me everyone you’ve ever slept with.” 

Edward’s eyes widen. He looks around to see if anyone can hear them.

“Oh, come on, it’s the Village. Nobody cares.”

Edward takes his cigarette case and lighter out of his breast pocket. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a long list. I had something of a wayward youth.”

“I know  _ that _ .” Harry holds out his hand. “Just tell me the highlights. I like hearing it.”

“These are expensive, you know. Not like the trash you smoke,” but he hands Harry a cigarette anyway. “Let me think.” He lights his cigarette, and then Harry’s. “Did I ever tell you about the Captain?”

“Is he that fighter pilot?”

“No, that was Jackie. The Captain was a real captain. His Majesty’s Armed Forces. I can’t remember his name, or maybe I never knew it. I was 26, he was about 50, I think.”

“An older man! Oh, this is good. Was he handsome?”

“Extremely. Have I really never told you this story before? He had this beautiful grey hair, a real silver fox,[13] and this gorgeous moustache. He was a guest of my parents, on medical leave from the war. God, I probably seemed a little desperate, the way I was throwing myself at him.”

“I bet it was charming.”

“I hope so. We spent the night together, but that’s not the interesting part of the story.”

“Oh?”

“No. The next morning, at breakfast, he has a brain aneurysm.” 

“Oh my God.”

“He died in my arms, in my parents’ dining room.”

“Oh God, Edward.” Harry wraps his hand around Edward’s forearm. “My poor baby.”

They’ve reached the front door of John’s building. Edward snuffs out his cigarette as Harry opens the door.

“It was certainly harrowing. It’s odd to think about.” Edward says as he follows Harry down the hall.

“Do you miss him?”

“Not exactly. I hardly knew him. I don’t think I’d think about him at all if he hadn’t died. I’ll tell you this, it wasn’t my favorite sexual experience.”

They’ve reached John’s apartment. Instead of opening the door, Harry backs Edward against it, boxing him in with one forearm.

“Oh yeah? What was your favorite sexual experience?”

Edward pretends to think. “Hmm. 1952. This American artist. Annoying as could be, but he had an incredible arse.”

“Interesting,” Harry says, his nose brushing Edward’s cheek. “Were his paintings any good?”

“Yes. Almost as incredible as his arse.”

Harry smiles, and without breaking eye contact, he manages to get the door unlocked. Edward finds the maneuver oddly arousing. Harry pushes the door open and pulls Edward inside. Edward wraps his arms around Harry and kisses him messily, kicking the door closed behind him. Harry tugs gently on Edward’s hair, and Edward moans.

“Shh, mind the neighbors, will ya?” Harry chastises.

“They don’t know who we are. We’ll just pretend we’re John and Elaine, they’ll never know.”

“Have you got a decent Elaine impression?” 

“Oh, John,” Edward moans in a high-pitched, American accent, “Squeeze my giant, Jewish tits.”

Harry presses his mouth to Edward’s cheek to suppress his laughter. “You’re going to get them evicted. And then I’ll have no place to fuck you.”

“Oh please. You’d fuck me on the Brooklyn Bridge if you had to. I’m that gorgeous.”[14]

Harry kisses down the side of Edward’s neck. “Let’s not test it, hmm?”

Later, as they lay together in John’s guest bed, Harry rests his head on Edward’s chest. Edward plays with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.

“Tell me everyone you’ve ever slept with,” Edward says suddenly.

“You already know. It’s not a long list.”

“I don’t know everyone you’ve ever slept with. I didn’t know about Bill.”

Harry turns to look at Edward. “Bill?”

“The farmhand your mother caught you with. Norma and Annie told me,” he adds sheepishly.

“Oh! You mean Bob. I never actually slept with Bob. We were just kissing when my mother found me. I’ve only ever slept with three people.”

“Really?”

Harry sits up and turns away from Edward. “See, this is why I never told you, I knew you’d be mean.”

Edward turns toward Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder and kissing his ear. “I’m not being mean, I promise. I want to know. I want to know everything about you.” He kisses Harry’s temple. “You lost your virginity in France, yes? Tell me,” he coaxes.

Harry turns over onto his back, sighing dramatically. “I did, when I was twenty. My whole platoon went to a brothel together. I didn’t want any of them to know I hadn’t done it, so I procured the services of a prostitute named Yvette.”

“But you knew you liked men then, right?”

“I did, but I still thought I could maybe like women too. And it was nice with Yvette. I mean, I liked it. I got off. And I thought maybe I could make it work, I could find a nice woman I liked, who was funny and read books, and we could get married and have pleasant sex and that would be enough. But I also knew that having sex with a beautiful French prostitute wasn’t nearly as good as just touching myself thinking about James Stewart.”

Edward snorts. “You  _ would _ like Jimmy Stewart. Alright, who else?”

“Well, when I was at Columbia, there was this boy Philip. I never slept with him either, but I think he was sort of my boyfriend. We spent all our time together, and we’d share a bed, and he’d kiss me, but we never went farther. I think he thought it was alright as long as we never went farther than that. Junior year he got engaged to some girl from back home in Cincinnati, and I never saw him again. Then I moved back home, and there was Bob, and then when I came to New York again, there was Victor.”

“Victor.”

Harry nods. “I… I loved Victor. He was the first man I ever loved. I thought I loved Philip, but that was just… infatuation, I guess. I was absolutely dopey for Victor, though. He was a graduate student at NYU, studying American literature. He was so smart, and mature, and he made me feel so grown up. We’d stay up so late, drinking coffee and talking about Walt Whitman. I was working as a clerk in a law firm at the time; I was late to work almost every day. I don't know why they didn’t fire me.” Harry smiles grimly.

“What happened?” Edward whispers.

“He was sleeping with someone else. Multiple someones, maybe. For all I know he was fucking half the undergraduates at NYU. What I do know is that one day I went by his apartment and he was in bed with some 19-year-old. This absolutely beautiful boy, you know, beautiful in the way only 19-year-olds can be. And I just stood there, in the doorway of that stupid little studio, and he didn’t even notice me at first, they just kept at it, they just kept  _ fucking _ , and eventually the boy noticed me, and he screamed, and Victor looked up, and I just couldn’t- I couldn’t breathe. I ran away as quickly as I could. God, I- I think I spent about a week in bed after that. I got fired. At least, I assume I was fired, I couldn’t even check my mail. I just lay in bed, thinking about what I was going to say when Victor called, all the nasty names I was going to call him, all the ways I was going to beg him to take me back. But he never did. He never even called me. Eventually, John came by to try and cheer me up. He was telling me about this trip to London he had just taken, how beautiful it was, and I thought, that’s what I need to do. I’ll go to London. If I’m not in the same city, the same country anymore, he can’t hurt me. So that’s what I did. I packed up everything I owned, and I left New York. And I haven’t been back since.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute. Edward watches Harry’s chest rise and fall as he breathes.

“I’m so sorry,” Edward says, finally. “You never told me.”

“I think,” Harry says, screwing his eyes shut, “I’ve always been afraid you’d do the same thing to me.”

“Harry, you know I’d never cheat on you, not in a million years.”

“No, I know, but I’m always afraid you’ll grow tired of me.” Harry turns his head to look at Edward. “I love you so much, Neddy, and I don’t think you could possibly ever love me as much as I love you.”

“Harry,” Edward breathes. He pulls Harry closer, and Harry buries his nose in Edward’s chest. “Harry, I love you more than you could ever imagine. I couldn’t grow tired of you anymore than I could grow tired of breathing.”

Harry nods, but he lets out a pitiful little sob. Edward tightens his arms around him.

“Harry, I came to the States for you. I spent almost a full day on a plane to go to the backwaters of Montana for you, then a few days later I flew to New York to go to an awful jazz club for you. I don’t do that for all my boyfriends.”

Harry lets out a deranged little laugh. “Oh God, this has really been an awful vacation, hasn’t it?”

“No, no, Harry, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that I did it for you, because I love you.” Edward doesn’t know what else to say, how else to let Harry know how he feels. He doesn’t know how to say “ _ every word I say to you is ‘I love you. _ ’” He thinks about the pocket watch, currently wrapped in a pair of socks in his luggage. “What’s your favorite place in New York?” he asks suddenly.

“Central Park, why?”

“That’s what we’re doing tomorrow.” 

Harry smiles. “Alright. Tomorrow.” He closes his eyes and snuggles closer to Edward’s chest.

“Oi, don’t fall asleep yet,” Edward says, shaking Harry’s shoulder. “You haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“I’ll do it in a minute,” Harry says. “I just want to be close to you right now.”

“You’re going to forget,” Edward complains, but he presses his lips to Harry’s forehead and closes his eyes anyway.

They both forget to brush their teeth, but neither of them seems to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my big fat Jewish tits and my big fat Jewish mustache.
> 
> Will Harry learn to trust how much Edward loves him? Will Edward ever give Harry that damn pocket watch? Will Elaine and Harry ever learn how to use bookshelves? Stay tuned for the FINAL CHAPTER to find out!
> 
> Notes:  
> 1The original name for JFK airport. [return to text]
> 
> 2Answer: he did some, not all. [return to text]
> 
> 3Columbia University didn't admit women until 1983. Barnard was (and still is) Columbia's sister school, an all-women's liberal arts college and one of the prestigious Seven Sisters colleges. [return to text]
> 
> 4Based on Mad Men, I think owning a car in Manhattan was less crazy in 1955 than it is today, but still an unnecessary and inconvenient luxury. Some Manhattanites still own cars, but many of them pay more money to park their car than they do in rent. [return to text]
> 
> 5Very handsome American football player of the 1950s. [return to text]
> 
> 61955 was near the end of what one could call the Golden Age of Antibiotics. Most of the major antibiotics were being discovered around this time, and antibiotic resistance wasn’t yet a problem. Hopefully you are fond enough of me at this point that you will put up with my unnecessary explanations of the history of antibiotics, much like Harry puts up with Edward’s. [return to text]
> 
> 7What do you think, folks? [return to text]
> 
> 8This club is (very) loosely based on the Gaslight Cafe as it appears in Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Unfortunately, this can't be the actual Gaslight, as that didn't open until 1958. [return to text]
> 
> 9Beatnik slang for "living together" [return to text]
> 
> 10If Edward were a REAL cocktail waitress, he could carry all six drinks in one hand using nothing but some coasters. Spoiled rich boy smh. [return to text]
> 
> 11Dave Brubeck was a Jazz pianist and composer, and one of the foremost artists in a genre known as “cool jazz.” No, I didn’t make that up. You are probably familiar with his song “Take Five,” although you may not know the name. Pat Boone was one of the best selling artists of the 50s, and the king of the squares. In 1955, he was at the beginning of his career, and mostly doing white-friendly covers of Black R&B songs. This is a devastating put down on Jasper’s part. This would be like if you said you didn’t like Wilco and somebody else said “What do you like? Katy Perry?” [return to text]
> 
> 12American Abstract Expressionist painter. [return to text]
> 
> 13A term that, believe it or not, dates back to the 1920s. [return to text]
> 
> 14Edward “I’m not vain” Button. It really is a good thing these two found each other because they are INSUFFERABLE. [return to text]


	4. Jeeves and Wooster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What a queer thing Life is! So unlike anything else, don't you know, if you see what I mean.”  
> -Bertie Wooster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are at the end!! Don't worry, I am not done writing about Edward and Harry, I love them too much. However, in the future, I don't think I'll be tagging these fics as part of the Ghosts fandom, so as to not clog up the tag. If you are interested in staying up to date, I would recommend subscriving to this series or subscribing to me, Beefmaster. 
> 
> As always, I must thank my beta a_bit_not_good_yeah. Words cannot express how instrumental she was to this fic being good. 
> 
> Thanks as well to FlyingCatPerson, my Britpicker, for giving me the cursed knowledge that "muppet" is considered an acceptable insult in England. I have chosen to bury that knowledge down as deeply as I can.
> 
> A big thank you to everyone on the Ghost OC Discord for talking about Edward and Harry with me. You are all wonderful and I enjoy you so much.
> 
> Finally, this fic was made possible by contributions by readers like you.

**New York City, June 6th, 1955**

The next morning, Harry dresses himself in his favorite black turtleneck.

“You’re going to be hot,” Edward warns him. “It’s nearly 80 degrees[1] outside.”

“Yes, but I look so good in it,” Harry says. Edward can’t argue with that.

By the time they get to Central Park, Harry is already complaining.

“It’s too hot for this,” he whines. “Let’s go to a museum or something. Somewhere cool.”

“It’s not that hot. Come on, we’ll go to the lake. That’ll cool you down.”

“Fine, but don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

“I never do.”

As they make their way further into the park, Harry’s mood begins to improve, and he chatters excitedly about all the things he wants to do that day.

“We should go to the zoo,” he says. “Oh, and maybe we can rent a boat, they’ve got this disgusting old boathouse[2] up this way.”

“Alright, I like boats.” Edward turns in the direction Harry is pointing, and they make their way over a bridge. “Oh, look, ducks!” Edward points toward a pair of male Mallard ducks swimming toward them.

“You act like you’ve never seen a duck before,” Harry says, but he turns to look at them anyway.

“I just like them.” Edward bites his lip, then turns to Harry. “I wonder where they go in the winter,” he says casually.

Harry turns toward him sharply. “What?”

“The Central Park ducks. Where do they go in the winter?”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Oh Edward,” he gushes, “you read it.”[3]

“I did. You only begged me about a thousand times.”

“You know you don’t have to read everything I recommend to you, right?” 

“I know, and I don’t. But it’s your favorite book.”[4] Edward puts his hand in his pocket. “I’ve actually got something for you.”

“You don’t have to get me anything. You reading a book is a gift enough.”

“Ha ha. Seriously, I think you’ll like it.” Edward pulls out the pocket watch and hands it to Harry.

Harry gives Edward a puzzled look. “Gosh, you really are an old man,” he teases. “You know I’ve got a wristwatch, right? It’s self winding and everything.”[5]

“Yes, but this is special. It was my father’s, you see?” he turns the watch over in Harry’s hand. On the back is inscribed ‘ _ to Robert, from Margaret, with love. _ ’

“Edward, I can’t accept this.” He tries to hand the watch back. “It’s too valuable, besides, it belongs to your family-”

“You are my family,” Edward insists, closing Harry’s hand around the watch. “I’m giving you this because I can’t give you a ring.”

“Edward,” Harry breathes. 

“You are the most brilliant, most talented, most humorous, and most handsome man I have ever met,” Edward says, “and I want to spend the rest of eternity proving to you how much I love you. Consider this but a small token of my affection for you.”

“Oh Neddy,” Harry gasps. He wraps his hand around Edward’s forearm. “I’ll keep it forever, and when I die, bury me with it.”

Edward smiles. “I promise.”

Harry looks back at the watch.

“It really is beautiful,” he gushes. “I’ll have to get a chain for it.”

“Perhaps I can buy you one, but I might have to cut off my long, gorgeous hair.”

“Alright, now you’re just showing off.”

“You’re the one who said I didn’t read. I just wanted you to know my Eton education wasn’t wasted.”[6]

You’re incorrigible.” Harry looks back at the watch. “You really brought this all the way from London? For me?”

“I did. I thought an American holiday would be the perfect romantic venue for it. Things didn’t go exactly to plan, but I think it worked out.”

“It did. Christ, I hate that we’re in public,” Harry says. “Can we go back to John’s place?”

“I thought we were going boating?” Edward teases.

Harry shakes his head. “We can go in the afternoon. Right now, I want to go back to the apartment, for at  _ least _ an hour.”

“An hour? That’s awfully ambitious, don’t you think?”

“Well, I’d like to take a nap.”

Edward scoffs. “It’s 10:30 in the morning. You just got up.” 

“Well, I plan on getting very, very, tired.”

**Edward and Harry’s flat, January 20th, 2001**

When Edward dies, it falls to his niece Heather to clean out his flat. It’s going to take at least two weekends, she figures: Edward and Harry were always far more interested in accumulating than they were in getting rid. Most of it will have to be sold, and she’ll have to get an appraiser in to deal with some of Harry’s paintings. The closet full of bell-bottom corduroys should probably be burned. In fact, there’s only a few things she wants to keep: some photo albums, a signed copy of  _ Right Ho, Jeeves,  _[7] and a beautiful wooden trunk that has been in her grandmother Margaret’s family for almost two hundred years. She would like to keep Edward’s piano, but the logistics of it give her a headache. Perhaps she’ll simply gift it to whoever she sells the flat to. She finds an American war medal in a desk drawer, which she plans to ship to Harry’s sister Annie in America. In the drawer below that there’s a peeling black lighter that reads “ _ North Africa, 1942 _ ”. She doesn’t remember Harry having served in Africa, but she supposes she ought to ship that to Annie as well, just in case. Mostly, it’s just a lot of _ stuff _ , the detritus of nearly 50 years of living together. Despite all the stuff she  _ has _ found, she can’t seem to find the thing she’s looking for. 

“Where is it?” she mutters to herself.

“What is she looking for?” Harry asks, phasing through the bedroom wall to observe Heather.

“I don’t know,” Edward says crossly, surveying Heather’s ‘sell’ pile. “She can’t really mean to sell all of your books.”

“What’s she going to do with them? They’re all junk.” He points to a paperback copy of  _ Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood _ with the front cover ripped off. “Look at this one, it’s torn to pieces.”

“I kept them,” Edward says haughtily.

“Yes, but you’re a sentimental old man who can’t bear to throw anything out.”

“And what if she sold my piano?”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Harry says quickly. “That’s your piano. She _ knows  _ what it means to you.”

“Who’s the sentimental old man now?”

“Oh, shut it.” He looks around. “I just hope whoever she sells to redoes the carpets. I can’t spend the rest of eternity with mustard shag, I just can’t.”

“You chose the carpets.”

“In 1974, Edward. People change.” 

“It must be here,” Heather says, “where else could it be?”

“Do you think she’s looking for this?” Harry asks, pulling his pocket watch out of his cardigan pocket.

“She might be. She certainly won’t find it here.”

“Why not? What did you do with it? The real one, I mean.” Harry narrows his eyes. “You didn’t lose it, did you? Edward, I swear-”

“Of course not, you prat, I buried you with it.” Edward places a hand over his heart. “I’m offended you’d think differently.”

“Oh Edward,” Harry says, “you shouldn’t have. It’s a family heirloom.”

“Yes, and you’re my family.” Edward puts his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him close. “I meant what I said. I want to spend the rest of eternity proving my love to you.”

Harry smiles. “Oh Edward, you have absolutely nothing to prove to me.”

“Here it is!” Heather cries, opening a kitchen cabinet. She reaches in, and pulls Edward and Harry’s spare key off of its hook. “Thank God, the last thing I need is a trip to the locksmith.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!
> 
> Notes:  
> 1The UK used Fahrenheit until 1962. For all the modern non-Americans out there, 80 degrees is the same as 26.6 degrees Celsius. [return to text]
> 
> 2The current Central Park boathouse we all know and love (also known as the Loeb boathouse) was built in 1954, but Harry would remember the previous boathouse. Built in 1924, it was a small, wooden affair that would have been falling apart by the time Harry graduated Columbia in 1949. [return to text]
> 
> 3"Where do the Central Park ducks go in winter?" is a question Holden Caulfield asks over and over again in The Catcher in the Rye. In case you were curious, the answer is nowhere, for the most part they just stay in the park, but some migrate south. Mallard ducks are incredibly adaptable birds with a huge range, and they can easily withstand the cold of a NYC winter. [return to text]
> 
> 4As a_bit_not_good_yeah pointed out, it’s generally a good idea to stay away from men whose favorite book is The Catcher in the Rye. Much like Fight Club, the book itself is great, but men tend not to understand _why_ it’s great. [return to text]
> 
> 5While wristwatches date back to at least the Elizabethan period, they didn’t really come into vogue until after World War I. Almost all of these modern wristwatches were self-winding, Harry is just making fun of Edward. [return to text]
> 
> 6A reference to Gift of the Magi, O. Henry, 1905. Edward spent a lot of his time at school kissing other boys, but he did do some learning. [return to text]
> 
> 7P. G. Wodehouse, 1934. Another Guildford native! They would have had to get his autograph on a trip to the US, as Wodehouse had a sort of self-imposed exile from after the war until his death. It's a very interesting story that is too long to put here, but I highly recommend reading his Wikipedia article. [return to text]


End file.
